On The Road With Denny D

Where did I begin?     Well, I'm not going that far back. Besides, who wants to see that? Not me.  It was September 2nd, 1959. My mother was in labour. It was my fault; the baby was me, and even though I was born five days before Labour Day, I was born on Labour Day. How I entered the world was a little strange.  Ready for the dance? It wasn't her first rodeo, and I wasn't the first clown; I was to be red nose number five.  My journey started in a hospital shower. That's when she saw it. My foot. Hanging out. My right foot was ready for the show. They must have looked down and said, Oh no . There I was doing the hokey pokey. I had my left foot in and my right foot out. They must have pushed my right foot in and shook it all about. Turned me upside down, and that's when I came out. That's what it's all about. The hokey pokey and the twist were my first dance moves. Throw in the mashed potato and the crawl, and you sum up my life as an infant.  Lo...

To the rink, okay, the floor   It was the late sixties or early seventies. We invented the indoor sports craze known as sock hockey. If the weather was bad outside, we would bring the hockey game inside. It was before the evolution of mini sticks and mini hockey nets. The game was played on a floor, usually consisting of vinyl or carpeting. My mother was a fan of Berber, and so were we. Our house had two rinks: a carpeted rink that stretched from our living room entryway to the built-in shelving unit just off the kitchen and the other, a narrow sheet of vinyl, which was the upstairs hallway floor. The upstairs hallway had bedroom doors on both sides. These doors were closed at game time. The rink stretched from the stairs leading down and the bathroom at the end of the hall. Our goalposts consist of door frames, entryways and cupboard doors.   The rules   When playing upstairs there was one rule everyone needed to agree on. The toilet lid had to be down. Nobody want...

Kids smoking I'll never forget my first drag. I was probably eight or nine years old. It was autumn. We had just raked the neighbors back yard. She was old and her dead beat husband didn’t do much yard work. When we finished our work we began to put it into a yard waste container; a cardboard box. I don't know what possessed us to do it. It's still a mystery. This friend of mine had talked me into many strange things before but this one took the cake. Hand rolled The tobacco was a mixture of grass (the lawn kind) twigs and, maple leaves. We tore off a flap from the box and used it as rolling paper.  This wasn't your average cigarette, it was more like a cigar for King Kong. We had to hold this yard waste tobacco stuffed corrugated cardboard cigarette with two  hands.  What could go wrong? Got a light? We just needed matches. My friend always had a box handy. He was a bit of a pyro. He once made a Popsicle stick replica of the towering inferno and set on fire on his upst...

My first haircut I remember my first haircut. Okay kind of. I remember the barbershop and the barber. I must have been five years old. Our neighborhood barber aka bookie whose name I will not mention, was quite a character.  He was my father's barber and now he was going to be mine. I wonder if my dad made the odd wager or was he strictly there for the haircut and conversation. My dad was the most handsome man in the neighborhood.  He had a killer smile and Popeye forearms, and many neighborhood women had a secret crush on him. My mother was the most beautiful woman to have never graced the silver screen. The were truly a beautiful couple. Body, mind and spirit. The men on our block must have been jealous of him. Of course, I'm assuming here but they all had the same hair cut or should I say brush cut. New heights The chair seemed comfortable enough, that is if you were a man. My seat wasn't as comfortable. The barber’s chair was made kid friendly with aboard across the a...

Trailer life Our summer tradition started at Pinery provincial park continued to a new lake.  Just a few miles from Powassan Ontario, was the Canadian shield waterway known as Wasi lake. Wasi Lodge was our new home away from home. By now my mother had enough of us kids and maybe her husband too, the month break was welcomed. It was just my dad, us kids and a couple grand kids. Apparently, my sister needed a break too. Our fourteen-foot Citation was parked on the top of hill overlooking the shoreline.  I wish I could say it was all fishing and fun, but somethings were not fun. Doing laundry, not fun. Fishy, sweaty and soiled clothes filled up the hamper aka green garbage bag. Not fun. There isn't a twist tie strong enough to contain that stink. A load of crap Once a week (usually on a Monday) we'd take turns doing laundry. This is the story of one of those Mondays. It was my turn.  The only good thing about laundry day was that I was relieved of my camp cook duties. I th...

On The Trail The Boiling Point   When you have three boys, a dog and a wife who is about to go insane, a loving husband has the responsibility to ensure some peace and quiet. My father could see the steam vapors from my mothers’ head rise. It could have been the hot July weather, but it wasn't, it was her kids and a barking dog. Our dog Trixie was part chihuahua, part terrier and part bitch. The bitch came out when we tried to sit next to my mom. Trixie was just a little protective, as any wandering chipmunk soon found out. We thought feeding them peanuts wouldn't be too bad. That and the chase was fun to watch.   The cool down   My mother would often escape the camp, climb the dunes and go stick a toe in the frigid waters of Lake Huron. It was a hot sandy walk with very little areas to stop and cool her heals. My mother and dog danced their way down to the beach stopping to catch their breath in the shadows of a dune bush. We just ran for it. Our feet wer...